Dueling In Temperance

The clouds blotted out most of the Turtle's light and the air, though chilly to everyone else, felt absolutely refreshing. After being in Shibatti, relegated for days on a boat, in the Pearl Islands, and then relegated back onto the boat, I decided I had had enough sunshine to last me a lifetime. I reveled in the gloomy day and took a walk batting around the idea of visiting the Onyxish quarter. Halfway towards my destination, I ran into a distraction that took me in an entirely different direction.

A crowd had gathered in one of the many small parks that littered the city. In the center of the crowd, I caught a glimpse of a man with light brown short cut hair that had the slightest bit of curl to it. He looked giant until I realized, as I moved closer in, that he stood atop a boulder, using it as a podium of sorts.

“Is there no one in this bloody town willing to challenge me?” His breath fogged in the air as he spoke to the crowd that had gathered around him. He had the lilting accent that was predominant among the Amethystish.

Despite the chill in the air, he wore only a black vest over a white long sleeved shirt. A pair of what looked like leather gloves covered his hands and at his waist, he wore a rapier not too dissimilar from the one I wore.

“Surely one of you would be brave enough to try to best me, William Fillion Buchanon, in a duel?”

A duel!

My heart quickened. I had heard that the Amethystish loved their duels liked Onyxish loved their poisoned wine. My hand itched to test the mettle of these northerners and see if their skill was as true as the tales told. Still, I hesitated at the back of the crowd. I was in Temperance for a specific reason. I could not afford to draw attention to myself.

“I left my sword with my other pants,” one man called above the rest.

“That's not all you left there,” someone spoke next to him.

There were a few hearty chuckles at the sally. This crowd had a definite familiarity among themselves.

William placed his hand over his brow, searching the crowd. He turned on the boulder, frowning in disappointment. I spent my entire childhood among the bards and so I recognized right away the performance style. I scanned the crowd, looking for the mark that he would choose, a predetermined compatriot who would give the crowd a good show.

Suddenly, his hand shot out, pointing directly at me.

“You!” he said.

The crowd parted, leaving me suddenly out in the open. Talk turned to whispers and then to silence as they caught sight of me. I swallowed and kept myself perfectly still. William hopped off the boulder and my jaw dropped as he strode up to me. He easily stood a head taller than me, his outfit accenting his already slim build. He had the familiar long face and high cheekbones of many of the Amethystish nobility. I looked up into his face and into a charmingly lopsided smile below a pair of startling blue eyes.

“I have not seen you around here before. What is your name?” He said.

I realized he was talking to me and checked myself, straightening my shoulders and closing my mouth, pushing out my chin.

“I am called Lucius,” I said.

Thankfully, I managed not to stutter my own name.

“Ah, Lucius. I see you wear steel at your side. Do you consider yourself worthy of that weapon? Or is it merely for ornamentation?”

I felt the shadow touch my cheeks as he attempted to goad me. The taunt was plain as day and there was no reason I should fall for his trap. I didn't owe him any proof of my worth as a swordsman and I definitely didn't need to prove anything to the crowd that stared at us, waiting for my reply. I could walk away and slip back into anonymity.

And yet I couldn't resist.

“Is that a challenge?” My voice was loud enough to carry but low enough to portray an edge of warning.

William's smile widened into a broad grin. His laugh was a rich tenor that hung in the air. He pulled off one of his leather gloves and flung it to the ground.

“I, William Fillion Buchanon, challenge you, Lucius,” he paused at my name.

“Delanoire,” I proffered.

He started again.

“I, William Fillion Buchanon, challenge you, Lucius Delanoire to a duel,” he said.

I looked between the glove on the ground in front of me and the smiling face of William. I heard a few whispers asking if I were related to the poet and noticed for the first time that a few Onyxish stood among the crowd. I calmly scanned those present, my gaze resting on the whisperers and one by one their voices faded, leaving nothing but a silent mass of hopeful faces.

I picked up the glove. It felt soft, almost silky under my fingertips. Even I could tell the expense of a glove like this: a glove he threw into the dirt without a care for its well being. It was something one of noble birth might do. I looked back at him with a kindle of suspicion. He held both hands outwards, palms up his smile never wavering.

I slapped the glove once against my leg to get off the dirt before holding it out to William.

“I accept your challenge,” I said.

The crowd cheered and the circle around us widened to make a large ring. William took the glove and swaggered to the center of the circle. I followed a step behind him.

“Now, then. The rules,” William began. “No armor. Your blade against mine. That firearm at your side will have to go. Such a weapon has no place in this duel.”

“It will remain at my side.” I said.

“How can I trust you will not draw it?”

He raised an eyebrow in question. Those closest that could hear, muttered among themselves. If I did not provide sufficient assurance or if unable to reason why I might keep my pistol, I did not remove it, whatever respect I might have gained from the crowd would be lost before I even started the duel. I knew that out here, the crowd was as important as the duel itself. Still, there would be no way that I would let my firearm out of sight.

I raised my voice. “I swear by Onyx and Amethyst that I will not draw my pistol in this duel.”

More whispers came from the crowd as I not only invoked one totem but two. I had definitely scored points in my favor. William didn't seem fazed at all by the response. He held up his hand and the crowd subsided.

“Very well. Terms of winning. I propose first blood.”

“Three draws of blood,” I countered.

“Three? Why three?” He asked.

I explained matter of fact. “The first is luck, the second is chance, but the third is skill.”

William laughed again, that rich tenor voice warm and compelling. “Done. I am beginning to like you more and more Lucius Delanoire.”

With the rules agreed to, William called out to two men and two women who took corners to make a square within the circle. Their job was to watch and ensure the safety of the crowd and make sure the duel was fair.

William drew his sword, the steel whistling as it left its sheath. It seemed to shine and hum as he took a few test swings. I removed my coat, laying it on the boulder and then drew my sword. It thrummed in my hand, hungry for the the duel and the blood that would be spilled with it.

We faced each other at the center of the field, raising our swords as one in a salute. Then we took our stances. The crowd hushed around us. That was the last I heard from the crowd until it was over.

William came at me, his sword humming in the air around him. I gave ground, parrying each blow easily, yet unable to gain ground. I had to admit, he was very good. A niggling doubt found its way into my thoughts. Perhaps I had underestimated my skill.

Gradually, William increased the intensity of his blows alternating them to keep me off balance. Suddenly, the light reflected on his sword and then in my eyes. The moment I blinked, a searing pain shot through my off-arm. I looked down to see blood welling from the rip in the shirt.

With perfect poise, William disengaged, stepping back and letting the realization of his score hit me.

“Luck,” he said with all seriousness.

“Luck,” I murmured agreement.

I looked up at the cloudy sky and then back down at his sword. I accepted that fact and didn't waste time thinking about it. Any skilled swordsman worth his salt would have a magical sword. I took the offensive, lunging at William with varying combinations of cuts and thrusts. He avoided each one like they were mere child's play. It was like he knew what moves I was going to do before I even thought of them. Again, light flashed off his sword's steel into my eyes just as I was about make contact. Pain erupted from my left cheek.

William stepped back again, a lopsided smile across his face. “That would be chance.”

I nodded, wiping the dripping blood off of my cheek and onto my sleeve. The black shirt I wore, hid most of the blood that seeped generously from my wounds. I stepped into a fighting stance and waited. I couldn't let this fight end without at least one tag. I had to start thinking.

Our swords clashed again. This time, I found the rhythm and we pranced around the field, thrusting and parrying. My sword thrummed as it clashed with William's, the two blades practically hissing at each other as they slid along one another's edges. This time, I somehow sensed the moment the light would blind me a fraction of a second before it did. Instinct guided my sword which came up and parried the blow about to cut across my chest and then riposted with a cut to his arm. Upon first blood, my sword practically sang out and I followed up with a cut that landed on his left cheek.

Every instinct told me to press my advantage and finish him off. Naturally, in a real life and death situation, that made sense. However, this wasn't life or death. This was supposed to be a friendly duel.

It was the surprise mirrored in William's round eyes that brought me to my senses. Whatever I had done, had more than startled him. I had wiped that friendly smile off his face and left something else there. Uncertainty? Suspicion? I pulled away.

“Luck and Chance,” I said between heavy breaths.

William nodded, his own breathing coming fast.

We took position one more time. Whoever got the next successful strike would prove his skill was the greater. I focused on my sword, feeling the hunger within it. Then I stepped forward and continued the dance. Thrust. Parry. Cut. Spin. Parry. Thrust. Move for move, we matched each other as if we were two sides of the same coin. I prodded at his defenses, searching for a weak point but there was none. His form was perfect.

William no longer smiled. He had a grim determination written across his face. I might not be able to breach his defense but, he couldn't get past mine either. Still, we couldn't keep this up forever and the longer we fought, the more likely one of us would tire and make a mistake. I knew I was getting tired.

I broke the rhythm first. I moved to one direction, clearly attacking towards his right. William seized on the opportunity to score the last cut and his sword arm moved to respond. I reveled as he fell for my feint. In an instant, I flicked my sword around and slashed outward. My sword was about to strike him when I realized he'd also feinted and his own sword lashed out towards me. I had one last glance at his face and that lopsided smile that had returned beneath those startlingly blue eyes. We struck each other at the same time, my sword penetrating his left shoulder, his slashing across my chest.

In that instant, the roar of the crowd erupted as a deafening ringing in my ears. I disengaged, stepping back, sword pointed down. Though I could not hear him, I saw the word formed on his lips.

“Skill,” he mouthed.

I nodded, the movement making my head feel wobbly. Crossing his sword to his off-hand, he held his right hand out to me. I followed suit with my own sword clasping hands with him. As I looked up at William, those very blue eyes seemed to grow larger and mischievous as I stared at them. Then he winked at me and I blacked out.